


Creators

by liitany



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attraction, Drabble Collection, F/M, Ghoul Cannibalism (Tokyo Ghoul), Graphic Description, Morbid Fascination, Not Canon Compliant, Obsession, Post-Canon, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-06-16 02:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15427290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liitany/pseuds/liitany
Summary: On the run from her brother to whom she is demonically bonded, Clary was dying in the dangerous streets of Tokyo when Uta found her.





	1. Deadfall

_I found you like a stray cat, in a stray alley. A stray meal perfect for a surprise, appetizing feast. You have fought bravely, but were a defeated warrior with ripe blood gushing from open wounds, knives out of your reach, gasping for air with a throat that invites me for tearing it open, devouring its contents._

_Your stance as prey would be the death of you. Or a miracle. The scent is so heavenly. The blood running through your veins is fine as wine. Your humaness is so sweet. And you were so defenseless it would be so easy to tear those knives from your weak grasp and become my meal. I was lucky to have found you. I would be lucky to eat you._

_But ... God(s) be damned if I take such easy advantage._

_Also never have I been so softhearted for a human. “Please help me.” A naive plead to a predator who exactly feeds on your kind._

_I would have used you to satiate my primal hunger. I would have torn open your throat for more wine of blood. I would have collected your flesh, stored them for tasteful savouring. I would have torn away your eyes, your beautiful green eyes to see emerald in them, to taste the gem as I consume them._

_I guess it is not a mistake to not act on them, to see those emerald eyes, lively red hair from time to time._

_Then fate has turned you into an apprentice. A valuable apprentice whose fingers duplicate or create reality on paper, bring life into image, bring illusion of space, depth and other impressive perceptions on objects that would only channel them truthfully in reality. A valuable apprentice whose passion in art is just as equal to my battling skills with a close friend._

_You got close to me bravely, fearlessly. You stare upon seeing my devilish eyes. You pull away when I inch close to your skin, inspecting the tasteful scent and feeling the arousal it brings to me, but less and less when I do nothing with it. You don’t cower upon witnessing my feasts and the flesh torn out by my teeth. It is as if you are a ghoul. Is that what got you close to being a meal in the first place?_

_At the same time, you are so human. You are a mortal. But you don’t flinch to the bleeding and cuts you take. You give no care about the world and shadows. I should be asking who you are, when you should be asking who I am._

_You don’t even care the fact that I am the faceless._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clary’s “knives” are actually dual kindjals.


	2. The Entire History of You

_In retrospect, why did I save you?_

_Sometimes I just wanted to see what happened if I didn’t murder a human. Maybe it would be one feeble step closer to humanity. But it was also beautiful to watch a skin heal, to nurse a bruise back into health with bandages suffocating it. It was beautiful to watch your skin heal to its normal paleness, the cut healed on your mouth, the blackness vanish underneath your eyes, the wounds closed, to see the healthy light back in your eyes again._

_But before all of that happened, to my utmost surprise, you offered yourself to me._

_Dying, bleeding on a couch, you were unaware that the one before you, trying to close your wounds is also capable of tearing them open and draining your blood just like your previous captor has done. What drove you to such place? What was the ghoul that has torn you apart only for you to trust another? What made you escape from a hungry mouth only to fall another?_

_Your chance of escape has closed. I thought of doing the same to my mercy, and lie you on the soft couch that can imitate a bed and send you to a forevermore slumber. You didn't know my hands, caressing and bandaging your skin, are measuring the amount of blood they can draw. You didn't know I was so close to your skin, to lavish the heavenly scent from your flesh. Oh, you didn't realize my desire to kiss your soft, tender skin, and let it lavish my tongue, if only I can't pollute you with my wetness. You didn't realize every inch of you is a prized possession that can be craved by any tongue and turn any surface into a dining table._

_But some part of me begged to nurse your broken being, and it won. I watched your beautiful face as I wrapped every white bandages over red wounds bleeding red blood, muffling the aroma; I cursed that small, empathic part of me as I lost another chance of meal. I watched as I wiped every remaining blood, using cotton or cloth; somehow I stopped myself from absorbing them by mouth, because I wouldn't know how to explain I enjoyed those marks of suffering just because they quenched my hunger ever so slightly. I watched myself caring for you, cleaning you, enjoying those cuts and bruises slowly being erased from your face. You look so beautiful without them. You look like an angel, worthy for aesthetic besides taste. As you turned around, writhed and responded for me, you triggered a glow in my heart, and I screamed mentally in repulsion. It is from attempt of care; it is a result of motherly cherishing. It couldn't be._

_Who are you?_

_As I worked past halfway, your hand reached up with strain, and yanked away a piece of your collar. It is a penciled, triangular black mark, disrupted by another red cut from your blood. "Get rid of it," you whimpered._

_I inched close. The scent smells both spicy and fragrant._

_"Bite it off. Please, tear it off!" Your hand pulls my shoulder, pulls me closer, also pulls you closer to your doom._

_"What are you saying?" I asked for clarification._

_"Eat here, please! I'm begging you! It hurts!" you cried. You cried._

_You were desperate to be eaten. It was too rewarding to be true and the scent kind of rots, but you smell so good and you made me so hungry. I wanted to devour the skin. One sniff, and the delicious aroma made me so hungry. You had made a huge mistake; I wanted to devour it; I wanted to eat it. I will tear away that patch of skin and drink your blood and won't let go —_

_My jaw chomped down; my muscles and joints flexed. I wouldn't let my prey escape. I tore away and then fed on the flesh. I licked at the blood and drank; never have I had a fulfilling meal like this, a delicious, human flesh and a lively beating heart. Warm blood spilling out, and I gladly absorb them while licking my tongue. A satisfying dinner. I loved this. I wanted you._

* * *

_A hand palmed my chest with an incredible strike. My heart jolted; my lungs jumped as I was pushed aside; I heard grunting in my ears. It wasn't hard to push back against your protesting body and plant my arm firmly against your throat, and press upon you to repress any of your movements. I met your furious eyes, cursing me a hell to pay. I had to widen mine. You were amazingly good with the element of surprise. What a mysterious woman._

_"I'm sorry to tell you that you have to rest for a few weeks," I said softly. "You can kill me later after you get well. Right now just save your strength."_

_"Already did." Closing your mouth, you aimed a kick to my crotch. I looked down and growled. Feeble, human strength. It will get you nowhere._

_You continued protesting. "I'm fine! Just let — me — go!!"_

_"Not as fine as you were earlier, begging me to eat you." I just remembered I still had a trail of your blood on my chin. I propped my arm and wiped myself with a chuckle._

_You were quick to take the distraction. You punched me in the face._

_Still, with a feeble, human strength due to the state you were in. But I had to give you points for being able to bodyslam me with a strong push — stronger than an average human — to roll me off the couch, onto the ground. But humans never learn how weak they can be, do they? It was so easy to roll back on top of you, stop your hits and in a second, your back was toward me and your wrists in my one hand. You were completely under my cage, under my control. Despite this, you still writhed and struggled. Did you know I can do anything to you? Pull you closer ... Tighten my grip ... Twist my grip ... Break your arm ..._

_"S-Stop! STOP!" you gasped as my hands worked. You were lucky I listened._

_You are mysterious, but you are just like other humans who believed more than they should._

_You were lucky I took mercy on you._

* * *

 

_Your figure is soft and light, just like a child._

_"Is that it? Are you going to eat me on the bed? Or kill me in my sleep?" You stared bravely into my eyes. I looked straight to my bed. Once I got close enough, I threw you onto it. "Oof."_

_A cute child._

_"I will sleep on the couch," I stated._

_"You don't have to carry me all the way here then. I get used to rough stuffs," you replied. I relish the disappointment in your voice._

_"... Sweet dreams. Don't touch anything in the cabinets and closets."_

_"Okay."_

_I swung the door close. And then I opened it again. "Do you mind if I sleep with you?"_

_"Wuh??"_

_Gotcha._

_"Or I would have to provide keys for my cabinets."_

_Watching your face. Closely._

_"Is that necessary??"_

_You bad liar._

_Who are you?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the title is a nod to the Black Mirror episode.


	3. Pulvis et Umbra Sumus

As we stock in more supplies, she is watching me. Her head bobs, ready to turn away when I rest my eyes upon her again. When she turns back, her eyes keep scanning my neck, avoiding mine; trying to decrypt the words etched into my skin, trying to piece the new visible words together as I turn around and around, revealing new sides. I play along, moving boxes and covertly showing her. Her head finally turns away. When I move in front of her again, her expression is carefully schooled into neutrality, frozen in thinking. It is no surprise humans would be intrigued by the foreign quote as it doesn't fit into their convention, but her eyes stare too long as her mind try to comprehend. She is delving deep into the code, cracking it with every knowledge she knows, when her deficiency isn't helping her. They glance as the decryption adds nothing to their lives. She watches. She reads. 

"Do you want a break?"

"No."

"I'll get water." Let's keep this poor human hydrated.

"I'm not thirsty."

Let her win. I obtain a jar of eyeballs. She kneels on the ground. Her scent is a mix of wine and sweat. Eventually she shifts and sits on the ground, leaning on one of the boxes. I sit a few centimetres, close to metres, away from her, snacking away. Even in the darkness, I can see the black inks of her tattoos peaking out of her jacket. They are mysterious marks, curving, broadening, narrowing, closing with tips as if drawn by rough strokes, as if they are painted with brushes rather than pens. Some are symmetrical, framed, or as if two in one, as if they mean something in a new language, maybe one just as foreign as the words on my skin ... Mysterious as her; mysterious as me. Mysterious as the fate that stopped me from killing her.

"Your tattoo is kinda cool." She turns her head a bit sideways, curled strands falling off of her shoulder. Her mouth curls briefly.

"Thank you."

_You are just as imperceptible as I am._

"I can spot the Pi symbol on there," she replied cheerfully. "They are in Greek. Modern Greek."

"Translated from Latin."

She reads it again in silence. Doesn't care my gaze is on her now. "Not many of them are English words, but if they are ... I don't think I have ever seen something like this."

" _Nec possum tecum vivere sine te._ "

Her brow furrows. I add, "Do you want me to say it again?" 

She nods. "Yeah."

_"Nec possum tecum vivere sine te."_

"'Not' ..." She is muttering. "'Can I' ... 'live with' ... 'without you'." She vaguely puts out a hand. "Give me a minute. Let me guess.  _Nec possum tecum_..."'

My brow raises.  _What a challenge._

Her repeated words are just as accurate, fluent even. Never have I imagined Americans would study Latin. Never have I seen someone else decrypting this smartly, navigated this language a bit familiarly. She is different and interesting.

"Neither can I live with and without you." Her eyes widen with realization. "'I can neither live with nor without you.'"

"Indeed. You're right," I marvel in response. 

She giggles and beams at the ceiling. "Yes!" Briefly pumps her fist in the direction of it.

Plucking and consuming another eye, I inspect her marks again. She's looking back at me. They do aesthetically fit her, but the symbols may hold a story. For an average human, every marks and scars holds a story. I want her to take her jacket off so I can see more on her flesh. But that would add the price of me doing the same. Her scent ... I would love to breathe in more of her scent.

She glances at me again to find me staring at her — I don't quiver — just as the same time I say, "So why don't you tell me about these marks?" 

"Oh, they are just tattoos. They look good. I got them for my ex-boyfriend. And now I can't get it off so ..." She laughs. "Well." 

She doesn't meet my eyes.

"Does he have a girlfriend now? Boyfriend?" 

"Who knows."

I take a look inside the jar one last time and screw the lid shut. "Let's keep moving." 

_Fiery hair. Dressed in black. A dark vixen._

_I would like to learn more about you._


	4. Jonathan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied Abuse TW.

_You are just as secretive as me._

_Green eyes that see. Green eyes that perceive. But they also avoid._

_Hands running along your hair, you finally start, "Why don't you tell me about your family? What do they do?"_

_"Nothing." I smile convincingly. "They are so mundane, and I move away." I inch a little bit closer. "So what about you? What made you come here in the first place?" I wish to drill the hole a little bit deeper. Show me what you are. "Do your family smell as good as you do?"_

_A nervous giggle. "You are scaring me."_

_I pull away._

_You are silent. And then you begin, staring at_ _the wall._

_"There is a man." A pause to bear a heavier weight, a harder truth. "He is my brother. It's just ... We are very opposite, him and me. Let's say while I like animals, he likes to crush them. I would cherish them while he would hurt them." Your head dips briefly. "And then I think he would use it on me. ... I was wrong. At first. He got close to me and taught me things, but in the end ..." Then I am meeting your disbelieved eyes. Your eyes are darker. Your voice is quieter. "... that was when he would lash out. He planned to draw me close and slowly, slowly gained my trust and then that was when he could hurt me. Sometimes the worse way is to not knowing the enemy, is it?" Shaking your head; fingers running through your hair. "I'm sorry I'm telling you this."_

_"No, don't be." I say, putting a hand on your back, pulling you close, giving you a feeling of home._  

_You let me. Leaning close, curling in. Your voice shakes and whimpers briefly, just like the prey you were back in the alley. "Please don't let him find me. Please."_

_"I won't." It feels like petting my child, if I have any. "What does he smell like?"_  

_"As if someone has death around them. It's nothing good for your meal. It would smell disgusting and filthy, like a demon.” You sound calmer now. “But he looks beautiful, but equally terrifyig. Dyed his hair red, when it’s actually close-to-white yellow. Really thin, with sharp chins and cheekbones. He's too charismatic. Don't trust him.”_

_Another secret pulled away. Another veil shed. How many more masks do you have underneath?_

* * *

The bell rings. "Welcome," she calls, her voice just like the ringing bell itself.

Then her voice withdraws. Not noticeable, but there. As her last tone vanishes, there is a hint of nervousness. Alarm.

Then the human who just entered stills the atmosphere. 

The human is nothing good for food. The scent immediately knots his stomach in repulsion, bringing her words into mind. It is a scent not of poor hygiene or decomposition, but not of the liveliness of human flesh either. It infects the atmosphere with its dullness and filth. It silences and robs away life. It reminds him of wickedness the demons possess and the tragedy world bears. A scent of darkness. A scent that reeks of death.

Even the footsteps — too calm, too deliberate — almost equate the human to the Reaper. He circles and prowls around the shop, vaunting his intimidation. Death clacking away on the checkered floorboards, examining the masks and models. The footsteps close to his workspace. The man is watching the pinned drawings on the bulletin board. Stop there. Clary is not saying anything. Perhaps she is watching his figure. Her scent doesn't move. She is quiet, tense, avoidant, on alarm. Uta doesn't need sight to analyze thoroughly, but he also fancies a game of guessing. Chemicals cloud his hair, indicating hair dye. Leather gear, just like the girl. They are rendered minimal by the deathly odour.

The stranger turns around. "Magnificent masks you have." His voice is accented, shows control and hints a smile. He also sounds tranquil but to the point of stillness. A bit rude, too, for not giving correct credit.

"Yes, they are." Clary responds carefully. Uta turns around in his stool. The stranger's back is facing him. Clary is by the furthest glass displays; her smirk doesn't reach her eyes. The man is leaning back on the glass, wearing a leather jacket and black outfit. His hair is dyed red, though darker than hers. He is tall, lanky, lean, a bit bony, with a mark matching Clary's on side of his neck. Unless there is something he doesn’t know, Uta may be able to knock him down by bare hands, just like he had done with any others. He doesn’t even have weapons. 

"You earned yourself a magnificent future, too, didn't you?" The tone is congratulatory, and something else which both know is directed to her.

“I have. Art is my thing.” Her smile looks genuine.

”Of course,” he muses. He hand runs along the edge of the glass. He turns sideways, his eyes are purely black. “I reckon you have chosen mask design. Or portraits. Are those the drawings in the cards there...?” His head motions to the glass display in front of her; she looks down and roughly nods. “Complicated things that mundanes do. They like to circumvent rather than taking the direct path just for the aesthetic, don’t they?” He advances to her, taking a look at those cards. They also have drawings of masks on them, some intended for samples.

"I barely took any other classes; art is the only thing I have." That is barely a mutter.

The man straightens and his head swivels to the left. He is humanly slow and in no rush, so Uta had the time to face his desk and drawings properly as if he has never paid attention to their conversation in the first place; the only giveaway sign is the noise his sandals shuffle on the floor. His pencil, controlled by his hand, traces lazily at the current frame. It doesn't matter if the other male finds him snooping, anyway. Everything is under his control.

The dark stare sears into his back, until the man turns away again to speak.

"Or they are not appreciated only by humans after all. You didn't draw all of them, or none."

"I drew some but he decides. It's not like I can make a mask anyways."

The stranger snorts. “I’d have to admit I can see you doing that, although it's a bit unusual. Doesn’t supply much of a living but manageable, right?" 

Uta looks up again to see the man completely in front of her, rendering both of their expressions unreadable. Clary is looking down. Only the man's back is visible However that is barely inconvenient. His ghoullish senses are still sharp enough to pick a change in the situation, quick enough to subdue the man in case of conflict. He has done this before, and the difficult ones possess kakujas that can wreck roads and destroy buildings. The stranger is not even a ghoul.

Clary laughs. ”I came a long way. I mean, ever since I'm told what I am ... The world has changed so much. All the battles I have fought, and now I can’t manage this ordinary job and live an ordinary life?” Her voice is close to laughing.

He speaks in a hushed tone that humans resort to for politeness; only the close-ranged can hear, but all ghouls can. "You are unbelievable, little sister. I've seen all the things you can do, but remember what father said: To love is to destroy. If you get attached too much, you would be heartbroken by the end of it." He leans closer, she leans further. He doesn't hit her. He then whispers blurred words, words even Uta's supernatural hearing couldn't capture. They sound too foreign.

Whatever it is, Clary doesn't respond. The male lightheartedly rocks while she looks stiff and uneasy. Such contrasting moods. Whatever those words gives must not be gentle. The charming tongue sounds like a snake hissing honeyed threats; whatever those threats are must have silenced her and robbed her place to speak. He can't see any reaction from her, but judging from her fiery nature ... she could be staring into him with dark rage, but if her brother is as abusive and dangerous as she stated, she would not show it, just display neutrality. Perhaps her intelligent brother may detect that.

Clary hisses, "Not a _chance_ , Jonathan." A fluid and foreign name.

"Perhaps I may give a chance to the one back there when I actually do it." 

"Hey, don't mistake him as my boyfriend; he's my boss," Clary snaps.

"Why would I, he is a tad older than Jace," he teases.

She fires back something in another language. In response, he lets out three disapproved noises; the only sharp, loud noises inside the eerie shop. Uta is sitting still, fully listening without a word, his work and utensils abandoned on the desk. He is hugging himself with his two feet bended to curl up into the small space of the stool. "Watch where you are, little sister. Why don't we talk about your new interesting life? Forgive me, but your boss is really quiet. Too quiet, isn't he? How is he doing? Is he treating you well?" 

The other's voice is sassily happy. "Yes, he is, thank you very much. No, really, he is paying me well too. He likes what I draw to be honest."

Jonathan fidgeted a little. Then, "Does it get lonely here? Has Jace and the others ever found you?"

"No one found me after the building exploded. No one even knows I'm on the opposite continent." She sounds like  _You are happy, aren't you?_

"Do you really think your friends would have easily given up on you?"

"Do you really think you would do the same if they look for me?"

Jonathan rises to a straight posture. He's tall, indeed. Now Uta can see bits of Clary's face, who is watching him attentively. "You have changed, Clarissa Fairchild." His words are so faint, but not to ghouls' ears. "When will you sound like the fiery sister when I told you to take the pain and use it?"

Shock flashes in Clary's eyes before it is hidden away. "You can't do it without me, can you? When I am gone and living the mundane life you so despise." She smirks.

Jonathan hesitates. He stares into his sister's eyes, searching her face, seeking something from her. The atmosphere shifts. It is as if a thread is cut. Out of everything in the world he has witnessed, Uta is sure he is seeing it again. It always happens when a human bond changes. When a human changes. When a human decides something with a revolutionary consequence they're not sure they can handle, but choose to accept. Then their world would never be the same.

Her brother finally answers, "Yes. Yes I can. I can do it without you. You will never stop just as I do. Feel free to disagree with me; it's not like I can influence you now." His head lowers briefly. "But you know what?" Clary is looking away while he persistently stares. "Never forget this, my sister. We are the greatest creations. We are capable of turning the tides ... of this world. And we will. I will."

Clary whispers, and only the ghoul sitting in the unnoticed, half-sealed space can hear her:

" _I am nothing like you and your father._ "

Briefly, Jonathan cups her cheek with one hand tenderly. Then he straightens and says, "Forget this conversation. Would you mind drawing me a mask? I have payment. That's the only thing I'll return you."

"You can ask Uta."

"Alright." He turns around and approaches the nearer glass display. The ghoul has already turned back around, facing his work. "Hello. If you don't mind me asking ..."

Halfway through Jonathan’s words, the pecliar artist turns around, regarding him with curious eyes.

 


	5. Mea Maxima Culpa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _My Greatest Fault_   
> 

_A bang in the bedroom. Smelled her scent scattered across the floor, densest in the place where the darkest secrets are hidden._

 

_In a second, I'm there. The door is closed, so I open it. The red thing is in front of me, standing tall, with a SHRING! and then her knives are pointing at me. Everything is tidy save for two cabinets dropped on the floor._

 

_Mouthwatering aroma flows easily into my nostrils. She has got her hands on everywhere. This wine-like scent has clung to almost every handles of the cabinet and cabinets under the desk, scrolled through my artworks, nudged the chair, crawled under the bed, seeped in the closet and unfurled through my clothes, and even invaded my bathroom and opened whatever doors in there._

 

_Everything, unraveled, untangled, decrypted, unleashed._

 

_I have foreseen this. One of the CCG investigators, my long-term nemesis, can be sharp enough, intelligent enough to find out; if only he has the guts to do what she has done. There is still nothing for her. I don't have anything that speak of my organization. Not their outrageously funny motifs, and no funny, bright noses and dots on any of my masks. I have dark humour, but it would never match to theirs. The girl is smart, but still foolish enough to hit the outer edges but never the core._

 

_My eyes meet her green ones. Her knives are glowing. Literally. Mysterious blue marks glowing as if powered up, smelling like burning fire._

 

_"You're a Clown, aren't you?" Her voice is afraid, daunting, interrogatory._

 

_The odds aren't in my favour._

 

_She knows._

 

_She knows._

 

_She backs away laterally._

 

_Then she speaks._

 

_"So you are involved in controlling a body which massacred so many investigators and ghouls, caused a siege, and now betrayed the Clave when we needed you to to overturn Jonathan's forces." She grits her teeth. "Is that why you have done these? Because it is fun?! Because it is fun to watch everyone die and the world end?!"_

 

_It hits again._

 

_Alone._

 

_Lone._

 

_The person with you all the time will walk away from you._

 

_"Everything — To you, everything is a game, right?!" she yells._

 

_I am nothing. I am air._

 

_Her knives lower. "Laughing at those things is simply wrong. How could you do something like this? How is this fun? How is watching everything crumble, everyone grieving and being upset over something bad happening to them, fun? This is sadistic." She shakes her head. "It's morbid. I can't believe you are involved in this. All this time ... All this time, you think everything I've gone through, everything happened to me and us, is nothing but a ..." a choked breath — "game."_

 

_Hitting me like bullets. But going through me. I'm invisible. Permeable._

 

_And alone._

 

_Alone._

 

_"You lied to me."_

 

_I can get used to it again. Just like the old times._

 

_I have friends._

 

_(A shuffle...)_

 

_Renji-kun, Itori ..._

 

_Maybe, maybe I can get through it again._

 

_I can get through it again._

 

_Or wine, maybe wine will save me ..._

 

_"Do you keep me just to eat me?"_

 

_She is a few inches closer now, has just frozen when I focus on her. A human with weapons in both hands. Small glowing knives._

_The girl who has broken my heart, turning me cold. Ice._

 

_"Yes."_

 

_I move and attack her._

* * *

_She is so rare. Very few humans know how to attack._

 

_My wounds bleed for prolonged time. Are her knives quinques? Where did she acquire them?_

 

_Is she undercover?  Did she persuade a predator to cut and injure herself so lethally in the alley, just to let fate collide our world? Did my nemesis decide to hire a hitman who would get close to me and gouge out my identity?_

 

_It couldn't be; no, and no. Otherwise she wouldn't be eager to fight._

 

_But none of this matters now._

 

_I snap my head out of the way as another knife buries into the wall behind me._

 

_Once again, I will turn my heart into ice._

 

_Once again, I will close my door._

 

_Once again, I can carry through; I have to —_

 

_AGH, THE PAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

 

_Her knife digs into my shoulder. Poisonous fire courses through me._

 

_It hurts_

_It hurts_

_It hurts_

_It hurts_

_It hurts_

_It hurts_

 

_I can't get through it I can I can't I can I can't I can I can't I can I can't I can I can't I can_

 

_"No — Don't — !!"_

 

_It's your fault. It's your fault you made me feel all of it again._

 

_My nails cut into the flesh. Sweet flesh that serves dinner, sweet blood perfect for wine._

 

_You gave me life. Now you have taken it away._

 

_If I live without you, I will forever suffer under the poison of loneliness._

_If I live with you, I will forever suffer under the poison of you._

* * *

_I have lost._

 

_She slams me in the head with hers — It hurts; somehow she is stronger. I have to flex away. She takes the opportunity to kick me, slash me before I can act more, and then runs away, out of the door._

 

 


	6. Play with Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uta dresses Clary in a lingerie and admires his art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW ish
> 
> (idk when precisely it takes place)

_We stared into the mirror, whose crystalline surface displayed the lovely vixen and I. The beautiful clothes clinging to her body, heightening its beautiful curves, chest, thighs, shoulders, neck. My face hovered above her shoulder, my eyes following her outline and form, my fingers feeling it in the flesh — in her hips, in her curves._ _And now, a movement — my movement: my left hand flowing up to the curve below her left breasts (she hitches). I actually wanted her thighs, but I don't want to startle her. I could feel the flesh pushing at the sensors in my palms, hindered by the lace; what a delightful torture, but the obstacle of fabric was what made her beautiful in the first place._

_Her wonderful eyes, innocent stare, her neck breathing and her chest heaving with lively breath, her skin lively with blood and functional organs and a vibrant colour. I would love to eat her, but vandalization is an offense._

_Her hands were dancing around, emphasizing at her collarbones, down to her chest, then vaguely at her thighs. Her eyes became half lidded and her head lowered a bit in shyness, with a hasty pant. In doing so, her red, flaming hair drooped down so smoothly, framing her face. Her lashes were so long. Her eyeshadow, crafted under my hand, enhanced so much on her eyes that it was so much harder to look away._

_Clary Fray. Clary Fray. My hands went to her shoulder and patted in consolidation. Looking away from the mirror, looking at you now. The lovely vixen is you. "Hey, you are very beautiful. Really."_

_"I know, it's just so overwhelming."_

_Turn you around, a hand on your chin. You don't realize how strong your fire has strengthened my desire. I look at you and your fire blinds me. Your flame burns me. "You, overwhelm, me. Do you want me to show you?"_

_You nodded. Finally, my desired moment has come._

_Dragging you to the bed, staring down, down, like I was at the top of the world, capturing every one of your delicious form. I'm so excited for this. My chest heaved and I could feel water in my mouth — hunger —_

I know exactly what to do to you.

_You ignite, burn and sizzle like the sun. Yet, when given the chance, you are so, so dark._

_Just like my friend. Just like her sunshine which could have blinded the world._


End file.
